


even poison from your lips would taste sweet

by bizarrebird



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Brief mentions of suicide, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Poisoning, Sort Of, mostly just fluff, nothing too serious though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:06:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21621940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bizarrebird/pseuds/bizarrebird
Summary: It's quite unlike Hubert to miss a meeting. Ferdinand seeks him out to discover why and learns a bit more than he intended.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 11
Kudos: 257





	even poison from your lips would taste sweet

**Author's Note:**

> set some time after the A+ support.  
> Warnings: brief mentions of suicidal thoughts and feelings, self inflicted poisoning which can be interpreted as self-harm

It’s quite unlike Hubert to miss a meeting. The Professor and Edelgard had held off on beginning for a good five minutes, waiting for him to appear, though he never did. An offhand comment from Bernadetta persuades them to start. 

“I did see him the other day… and, um… he looked sort of ill. Maybe he needs some rest?” 

The idea is accepted and all goes on, though the words linger in Ferdinand’s head. She’s right, really. Now that he thinks on it, the last few days, Hubert has been even paler than usual, his footsteps a bit subdued. Even the other day when they had settled in for one of their tea breaks, Hubert had seemed a touch stiffer, taking barely even a sip of his coffee before it grew stone cold. 

Ferdinand hadn’t thought much of it then. War weighs heavy on every shoulder. And there isn’t a soul in the army who works as hard as Hubert. On more than one occasion, Ferdinand’s heard Edelgard ordering him to get some proper rest for once. Though he has to wonder if that is one of the few commands she issues that he chooses to ignore. 

The meeting comes and goes without so much as a shadow of the Emperor’s right hand. As the others take their leave, Edelgard and Byleth the only ones remaining, their attention still on the maps and papers spread over the tables, Ferdinand hesitates. The tea back in his room beckons, but he cannot help wondering. He casts a look over his shoulder to Edelgard. “I think I will go pay Hubert a visit. He ought to know what he missed.”

Edelgard looks up at him and nods, a sliver of concern darting across her face. “A fine idea. Tell him I must speak with him later. If he’s missing war meetings--”

“I am sure he did not do so intentionally,” Ferdinand says quickly, the still foreign urge to defend Hubert nearly taking him by surprise. Even with all the time they’ve been at war, that is still new. “He must have simply overslept.”

“Perhaps.” Edelgard sounds less than sure, her brows knitting together. “I’m not certain Hubert’s capable of sleeping too much. If you find him, do let me know if he’s alright?”

“Of course, your highness.” One arm swept across his chest, Ferdinand ducks into a bow before turning on his heel and striding out of the room. It occurs to him as he makes his way down the hallway that he’s not entirely sure where Hubert might be. His room is a possibility, though when Hubert’s working, he rarely uses it. Perhaps his office then. It’s still a bit strange thinking of it as Hubert’s, though it’s been five years since Seteth set foot in it. 

It seems more likely the more Ferdinand thinks on it. There’s an unspoken understanding that Hubert’s office it off limits without invitation. Ferdinand himself has only been summoned there two or three times. Still, if Hubert’s fallen asleep at his desk, surely he will appreciate someone coming to rouse him. 

The door to the office is shut, as it always is. Ferdinand knocks lightly. “Hubert? Are you in there?”

He waits for a moment and is nearly ready to sigh and turn away when a very soft, weak noise reaches him. Ferdinand freezes. That cannot be Hubert, can it? He knocks again. “Hubert, are you alright? Is something wrong?”

There’s another soft sound, like someone shifting on the floor. A chill goes down Ferdinand’s spine. What if something’s happened? Could someone have broken into the office the night before? He can’t remember seeing Hubert at dinner or breakfast. Has he been in here all alone all this time? 

Ferdinand tries the handle and finds it unlocked. Also strange, Hubert would never leave it that way intentionally. He throws it open and charges in, half wishing he had thought to fetch one of his lances first. His eyes scan the room and his heart drops into his stomach. 

The papers on the desk are a mess, some slipping right off it to gather about Hubert’s barely moving form on the floor. He’s more pale than Ferdinand’s ever seen him, hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, his face curled in pain. A trickle of blood runs from the corner of his mouth, from the noises he makes, it sounds as though he might be choking on it. 

“Hubert!” Ferdinand is at his side in an instant, dropping to his knees to pull Hubert up into his arms. “What has happened? Were you attacked? Was it an assassin?”

Hubert shifts weakly in his arms, then his eyes open slightly, as if with a great amount of effort. He blinks up at Ferdinand, looking dazed. “Wh… what? Ferdinand?”

His voice is weak, strained. Ferdinand pats at his chest, searching for a wound. Hubert’s coat is still hung up on one wall, leaving him in a thin white shirt and a waistcoat, though neither show signs of tearing or even a drop of blood. Perhaps he was stabbed in the back, but there’s no blood on the floor beneath him either. He gently brushes the hair back from Hubert’s face. His skin is clammy, strangely chilled. 

“What has happened to you?”

“It’s… it’s nothing of great concern,” Hubert says, eyes shutting tightly as he grimaces. He shifts a little in Ferdinand’s arms like he means to sit up, but can’t quite manage it, sinking back against Ferdinand’s chest as his strength fails him. 

“It certainly does not look that way! Are you ill?” Ferdinand cannot keep the disbelief from his voice, his eyebrows nearly at his hairline. “You did not look well the other day. I should have noticed sooner.

“I am not ill.” Hubert lets out a huff, eyes opening again. He looks a bit more aware now, some of the haze leaving him. “It is… this is poison.” 

“Poison?” Ferdinand repeats, barely able to stop himself from screaming the word. “We must get you to the infirmary now! I will call Manuela and--”

“There is no need.” Hubert cuts him off and shifts a bit. Ferdinand keeps an arm around his back and helps Hubert ease himself up into a sitting position, his back against the front of his desk. Pain still flashes across Hubert’s face with every slight movement even as he turns and reaches up, grabbing a small vial from his desk. He presses it into Ferdinand’s hand.

As he does, Ferdinand notices… Hubert isn’t wearing his gloves. Not much of an observation save for the fact that he cannot ever recall seeing Hubert without them before. Perhaps there was a reason for that. His eyes linger on pale palms, graying fingers to blackened tips. They look almost burnt, as if his skin has turned to charcoal. 

Ferdinand forces his eyes away, instead looking at the vial. The glass is clear, a strangely luminescent yellow liquid swirling inside. He stares at it for a moment then looks to Hubert. “I… I do not understand. Is this the antidote? Have you already taken it?”

Hubert lets out another slow breath, his eyes shutting again. “No. That is a new poison that the Alliance forces have been coating their weapons with. I obtained a sample recently. Some was given to Linhardt and Manuela so that they could concoct an antidote. This, I kept for my own personal use.”

There’s a strange sort of buzzing that fills Ferdinand’s ears. He can’t be hearing what he is. Suddenly, there isn’t quite enough breath in his lungs. “Hubert… what are you saying? Did you--you could not have poisoned yourself?”

But Hubert nods as he takes the vial from Ferdinand’s hand. He turns it carefully in his strange, darkening fingers. “It was more concentrated than I had anticipated. An error I will not repeat.”

Ferdinand can’t make heads or tails of that. His mind is stuck. Hubert’s poisoned himself. Intentionally. This… this cannot be right. It does not make any sense. There’s a deep, horrible, hollow feeling in his chest, a strange heaviness to his limbs. “Hubert… why? Why would you do this? Are you so truly so unhappy?”

One of Hubert’s brows quirks as he looks back at Ferdinand, confusion tugging his lips into a frown. Then suddenly, his eyes widen and he shakes his head. “It is not what you think. I have no desire to take my own life. And even if I did, I would not choose something so painful. I should think throwing myself off the monastery would be a good deal more effective, in any case.”

Sucking in a sharp breath, Ferdinand grabs Hubert’s shoulders and squeezes. “Do not say things like that! This is not the time for jokes--you’ve poisoned yourself for the goddess’s sake!”

Hubert stares at him, head tipping slightly to one side, looking almost surprised. “Are you--alright. Fine. I apologize, I did not mean to upset you so.” 

Ferdinand’s shoulders slump with relief and he allows himself to sit back on his feet, his hands sliding down Hubert’s shoulders to grip his arms, not quite willing to drop away completely. “Then what in the world were you thinking?”

“I was working to acquire an immunity to this particular poison. I’ve done so many times before.” Shifting, Hubert lifts one arm. He rolls up the sleeve with a wince and extends his forearm. There are faint traces of the luminescent yellow dotted above his wrist. Beyond that, there are strange, almost silvery patches that look a bit like burns here and there, then deep, almost black looking smears closer to his elbow. Among the strange marks are a number of tiny, round scars, puncture wounds in miniature. 

Ferdinand reaches for his arm, only for Hubert to half jerk away. “Do not touch the recent ones. The poison is still potent.” 

Nodding, struck dumb, Ferdinand lets his fingers curl around Hubert’s elbow instead, his fingers brushing the clearly older marks. There’s still a chill to Hubert’s skin, but it’s the feel of the marks that makes a lump form in his throat. The silvery ones certainly feel like burns. But the black ones feel… almost hard, like the bark of a tree. Like the skin there is long dead beyond repair. 

“Why do you do this?” he asks, when he finally finds his voice again. 

“It is the most practical solution. If I give myself small, non-lethal doses, I am able to gradually build up an immunity to the poison. Thus, if I ever encounter it in battle at a later date, it will have no effect. It’s quite useful at times,” Hubert says, sounding remarkably unconcerned, his gaze dispassionate as he looks over his own scars. 

“How many times have you done this?” Ferdinand almost wants to scream the question. He cannot wrap his mind around it. How often has Hubert brought himself so close to death? And how have none of them ever noticed a thing? 

Hubert shrugs. “At least a dozen. Some of them are old and out of use now, and there were a few I was exposed to when I was far younger. A tutor instructed me on how to do this when I was… eight, I believe. I have not miscalculated like this in some time. For the last week, I had been slowly increasing the doses. This most recent one was simply more concentrated than I had intended.”

“So you nearly killed yourself by accident?” Ferdinand can’t keep a slight touch of hysteria from slipping into his voice. His mind drifts back over Hubert’s words and stumbles horribly. Eight years old? Eight years old and filling himself with poison. 

That has Hubert’s eyebrows rising sharply. He scoffs, finally freeing his arm from Ferdinand’s grip and drawing his sleeve back into place. “I would not have died. The collapse was unfortunate and unplanned, but the dose was not enough to kill me by any means. You are so dramatic.” 

Ferdinand recoils a little hot anger rising in his chest. “Dramatic? You appear ill all week, you fail to make an appearance at the war meeting, and then I find you looking as though you are near death and you call me dramatic?”

At this at least, Hubert winces, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I did not know I was unconscious for so long. I will have to apologize to Lady Edelgard for missing the meeting.”

“Is that truly what you think is most important here?” Ferdinand’s almost yelling now, throwing his arms up in exasperation. How can Hubert talk that way? How can that possibly be his first concern? Does he not know how poorly he still looks? How Ferdinand’s heart had nearly stopped when he’d found him lying there? “What if you had been wrong about the dose? What would Lady Edelgard say if she had been the one to find you? What would she do if you had gotten it wrong and ended up dead?”

“Likely replace me with a less idiotic servant who wouldn’t be so careless,” Hubert says, rolling his eyes. “I hardly see how any of that matters. I will be fine--I am fine. This should pass from my system entirely by day’s end. I fail to see why you must make such a fuss over--”

“Hubert!” Ferdinand’s voice rises as he grabs Hubert’s face with both hands, cupping his jaw, forcing their eyes to meet. “I cannot believe what I am hearing--I do not believe it! How can you be so cavalier with your own life? Edelgard could never replace you. I certainly would not allow her to do so! When I came in, I thought you were dying! If you had been and I had been too late, I never would have forgiven myself! You are not replaceable and your life is worth far more than you seem to think!”

Hubert’s eyes widen, something like shock on his face. His throat moves as he swallows, his deathly pale face suddenly looking a bit more human with a flush to his cheeks. Slowly, his hands rise, curling around Ferdinand’s wrists. But Ferdinand doesn’t find his hands yanked away, instead, Hubert’s hands simply linger there, his thumbs brushing gently over the pulse in his wrist. 

“Ferdinand, I… forgive me. I didn’t mean to worry you so. I hadn’t thought…” His eyes flick away from Ferdinand’s face sheepishly. “No one was meant to know. Perhaps it shocks you, but this is practically mundane for me. I… do suppose I ought to be more careful in the future.” 

“Good.” It isn’t much really. There is no promise that he will never do it again, but… maybe hoping for that was foolish. Still, Ferdinand will count this a victory. “See that you do. Your life is precious, Hubert, whether you believe it to be or not. Edelgard… all of us would be lost without you.”

Hubert makes an uncomfortable sort of noise in the back of his throat and shifts a little, fingers twitching on Ferdinand’s wrists. He still does not seem to have much interest in eye contact. Unusual for him. But… ah, maybe the closeness is bothering him. Ferdinand does not often find himself touching Hubert apart from a companionable arm around his shoulders or perhaps a hand to help him back to his feet in battle. This is… quite different than that. Perhaps he should draw back, give the man room to breathe. 

But Hubert is so open like this, his face flushed, one of his lips drawn between his teeth, his brows furrowed, and his hair a mess. Ferdinand lets his thumbs drag gently over his high cheekbones. Maybe he ought to do this more often. It… it’s rather nice. Touching Hubert, getting to count each one of his stubby eyelashes. 

“You are far, far too kind,” Hubert says after several long moments, his voice slightly strained. There’s a slight bit of blood welling up on his lower lip where he’s bitten it too hard. “But I… I will take that into consideration, Ferdinand. Thank you.”

“Of course. You are a very dear friend, Hubert.” Ferdinand should get up. His knees are starting to protest their prolonged stay on the floor. And Hubert cannot be comfortable. Who knows how long he was writhing there before Ferdinand came across him? But he lingers. “Is it very painful? The poison?”

Hubert shakes his head faintly. “It has already begun to fade.”

“I meant when you began, when you collapsed. To force yourself to endure such a thing…” Ferdinand trails off. His hands shift a little, drooping to rest at the sides of Hubert’s neck, thumbs cradling his jaw. “I cannot imagine it.”

“I have lived through worse,” Hubert says, sounding nearly flippant about it. His voice vibrates against Ferdinand’s hands. It’s still a little strained, though Ferdinand cannot pick out any hints of pain on his face.

“Though I do not approve…” Ferdinand shakes his head a little. He should still be angry. Later, he expects he will be again. Perhaps enough to speak to Edelgard on the matter, he cannot imagine that she would allow Hubert to carry on with such dangerous experiments. But now, holding Hubert this way, looking into his pale eyes, Ferdinand cannot bring himself to feel anything but fondness. “You are a wonder, you know?”

Pink dusts across Hubert’s face and his eyes widen. Were he not sure it would get him laughed out of the office, Ferdinand might call the look sweet. 

He hardly notices what he’s doing as he leans in. They’re already so close. Too close. He feels the motion of Hubert’s throat as he swallows. Hears the catch of breath moments after it’s already too late to turn back. 

“Ferdinand--” his name is a whisper on Hubert’s lips as he covers them with his own. Hubert’s hands tense and squeeze at his wrists, then relax. There’s a tang from the blood on Hubert’s lip, but Ferdinand can’t find it in him to mind. The scent of coffee and something sickly sweet fill him up. Perhaps that’s the poison. 

It seems fitting somehow. Hubert smells of poison and tastes of blood. And Ferdinand cannot say that he minds. 

His lips move slow, coaxing Hubert until he responds. Hubert’s hands slip down his arms, grabbing at his biceps, his shoulders, up into his hair. Ferdinand’s lips part and he finds sweetness and blood on Hubert’s tongue. He thinks he might grow accustomed to the taste. 

The burn in his lungs and the ache in his knees force him back. Ferdinand finds Hubert looking at him with widening eyes, his face still stained pink. Well… this is certainly not what he’d had in mind when he had gone to find Hubert earlier. Heat rises in his face as he shifts back, finally moving to stand. “Ah, well, it looks like you made rather a mess of your desk when you collapsed earlier. Allow me to help you tidy up.”

When he risks a glance down, Hubert is blinking up at him looking almost dazed again. But he takes the hand to rise when Ferdinand offers it. There’s still a slight stumble to his steps, but Ferdinand steadies him. Hubert gives him a slight nod before taking a step away to sort out the mess of papers on his desk. “Was there…” Hubert falters, his shoulders tensing before he starts again. “Did I miss anything of importance at the meeting?”

Ferdinand recounts the events easily enough as he helps gather up the fallen bits of paper, leaving it to Hubert to put them back in their proper places. Maybe he ought to pay more attention to them. There won’t be many chances to get a look at Hubert’s work. But he can scarcely focus on the writing. His lips are still buzzing. 

As he finishes talking his way through the meeting, Hubert sighs. Ferdinand turns to find him leaning against his desk, long legs crossed at the ankle as he tugs his gloves back into place. The question is half way out of Ferdinand’s mouth before he thinks to stop it. “Hubert? May I ask something--your hands? That was not the poison, was it?”

Hubert casts a glance his way. “Hmm? Oh that, no.” He seems to hesitate for a moment before pulling one glove back off, holding up his hand as if he needs to inspect it himself. “You’ve heard it said that dark magic leaves a mark, yes? Well, that is a bit more literal than one might expect.” 

Ferdinand takes a step closer, reaching for Hubert’s hand. He’s half surprised that Hubert lets him take it. Perhaps he has not yet used up all his good will for the day. “Your magic did this?”

“Indeed. Prolonged use of dark magic with no crest, it’s rather inevitable,” he says, flexing his fingers in Ferdinand’s grip.

“I see. But Dorothea’s hands--”

“Dorothea has not been practicing magic since she could walk, I assume. She likely has some scarring, though not nearly this extensive. I… have made it worse for myself, on occasion,” he admits, looking almost sheepish. “Pushing past my limits has made it more intense.”

Frowning, Ferdinand nods, his thumb brushing carefully over Hubert’s ruined fingertips. “Is there anything to be done? To undo the damage, I mean.”

“Not at this stage. I do what I can to stop it spreading, but even then, it merely lessens the scarring, nothing can stop it completely. Don’t concern yourself,” he adds quickly, fingers twitching. “I’ve become accustomed to it. They’re only scars.”

That’s a sentiment Ferdinand can understand at least. His own scars are not few in number. He can scarcely count the times that he’s ended up on the wrong side of a sword or an ax. And he knows that Hubert has ended up in the infirmary now and then for one injury or another. However, the calluses Ferdinand has from his lance seem minimal next to the cold, almost dead looking digits in his grip now. 

“You put yourself through so much,” Ferdinand says slowly, his tongue feeling strangely heavy in his mouth. 

“I do what is necessary.” Hubert finally slips his hand free from Ferdinand’s grip, pulling his glove back into my place. “Were you in my position, I’ve no doubt that you would do the same.”

Ferdinand stares at him, eyes widening for him before he ducks his head. “Ah, I… am not certain that I would. But that is quite a compliment, did I not tell you to put such things in writing?”

Hubert’s lips twitch into a small smile. “That you did, my apologies. It is unlike you to doubt yourself so, what happened to Ferdinand von Aegir, noblest of nobles?”

“Nothing at all.” But the compliment weighs heavily on him. Had he been in Hubert’s position, what would he have done? Certainly he would have been loyal, but… would he risk poison and pain and his name dragged through the dirt? He wants to believe he would, that there would hardly be a question of it, but there’s hesitation. A pause. Too long a moment spent wondering at all he would lose in exchange. Thoughts he can’t imagine ever crossing Hubert’s mind. 

Ferdinand lets out a breath and shakes his head, trying for a smile, but his lips do not seem to want to cooperate. “You said once that my optimism exceeds all others. I believe the same can be said of your loyalty. It is truly amazing.”

“Ah.” Hubert shifts on the spot, looking almost uncomfortable at the praise, though his gaze doesn’t drop from Ferdinand’s face. After a moment, he frowns. “Ferdinand, is… is something wrong?”

“Now that you mention it, it’s the strangest thing, my lips feel a bit numb.” Ferdinand touches at them as he speaks. The feeling is in his fingertips as well, an odd, distant buzzing. 

Hubert looks at him, brows knitting together as his gaze drops to Ferdinand’s lips. A moment later, his eyes widen, a hand flying to his own mouth. The tips of his gloved fingers come away bloody. “The poison--Ferdinand, you fool.”

The journey to the infirmary is a quick and slightly hazy one. Manuela greets them with an exasperated sigh, though she fetches the antidote quickly, only giving them a few curious looks as she administers it. Ferdinand knows he ought to explain, but the thought of doing so makes his face burn almost painfully. What had he been thinking? He hadn’t been is the honest truth. Kissing Hubert while knowing full well just what he’d dosed himself with. Then again, Hubert hadn’t exactly stopped him. 

His thoughts are still a buzzing, awkward mess by the time Manuela leaves him be, Hubert sitting at his bedside, drinking the glass of water Manuela had shoved forcefully into his hands. Ferdinand lets his eyes drift to him. Hubert still looks pale, more so than usual, his features slightly pinched as he stares at the glass in his hands. What had possessed him then, Ferdinand wonders. 

He’s thought it before, of course. Rare stolen moments here and there, when they linger over tea, when Hubert graces him with the smallest of smiles, the one Ferdinand likes to pretend is for him alone. But he hasn’t acted, not until today. And Hubert had let him. They ought to speak of it, make it make sense for the both of them. But Ferdinand can’t find the words. Hubert seems in no hurry either, still glaring intently at his water. 

The lingering poison isn’t helping, though luckily the dose he’d apparently received had been beyond minuscule. It still nearly makes his stomach turn. How Hubert could stand this ten fold? He can’t even begin to imagine. 

The brush of gloved fingers against his own jolts Ferdinand out of his thoughts. Hubert is still staring through his water when Ferdinand turns to him, even as he links their fingers together. “I did not thank you… for coming to find me. I expect I would have been fine, but…”

“Ah, there is no need.” Ferdinand shifts, sitting up a bit, blinking in surprise when Hubert’s hand moves to his arm to steady him. He offers a smile as Hubert sinks back into his chair. The one he receives in return nearly forces the breath from his lungs. It is a small, careful thing, but it reflects in Hubert’s eyes, the corners crinkling slightly. Were his likeness to be carved into marble, this is the expression Ferdinand would pick for his features, that tiny, shy smile preserved for all time. 

“You are my friend, Hubert. I only regret that I did not pay you a visit sooner. I should have known something was wrong,” he says, shaking his head. “The next time you are late for a meeting, I will be at your office posthaste!”

Hubert ducks his head, as if to hide the laugh that slips from him. “What a relief, knowing the great Ferdinand von Aegir will be tending to me so carefully, I should be honored.” 

“You may tease, but I mean it.” Ferdinand has a long, winding assurance on his tongue, but it shrinks and fades as soon as Hubert meets his eyes once more. 

“I am well aware. You say rather little that you don’t mean. It’s quite infuriating.” Despite his words, Hubert’s voice is light, smile still lingering in his eyes. His hand still holds Ferdinand’s. There’s so much Hubert says that never passes his lips, Ferdinand knows. He still can’t make out every word, but he thinks he might have an idea what he means now. 

Perhaps… they don’t need to discuss it. The kiss is still in the air between them, a change in the wind, pushing pieces that were already there closer to falling into place.

Ferdinand lets a smile spread over his face as he lifts their joined hands, pressing his lips to Hubert’s gloved fingers. Hubert doesn’t look away, even as a faint flush spreads across his face once more. It suits him.

They don’t speak of it, light conversation turning back toward the meeting, toward the next one and the battle that’s to follow it. All the while, Ferdinand holds Hubert’s brittle fingers, thumb sweeping gently over the back of his hand. And in the back of his mind he thinks, he can learn to tolerate the poison as well. If that is what it takes to be here, with Hubert’s hand in his, the feeling of his lips still lingering, Ferdinand can endure that much and more. 

**Author's Note:**

> Just wanted to experiment a little writing from Ferdinand's pov, not sure how well it went, but whatever. Sometimes you just gotta write Ferdinand loving and admiring Hubert. Anyway, thanks for reading!


End file.
